My Story
by LewStonewar
Summary: Imagine Harry about 40, sick and tired of the fantastic unauthorized biographies so he decides to try his hand at writing his own memoirs. REWRITTEN! Over 100 unique readers since the relaunch but not one review. Something is wrong with that picture.
1. Chapter 1

**OMG its has been….6 years since I looked at this last. I decided to overhaul it and maybe I even get a little farther this time.**

**PROLOGUE**

My First memories are of a blinding green light and a flying motorcycle. The first I never mentioned to anyone. The second, though I often dreamt of it, I was assured could not exist.

My life as I knew it was humble enough. I lived in an unexceptional house on an unexceptional street in the town of Little Whinging, Surrey. I was a solitary child but not by choice. My cousin, Dudley ruled the schoolyard and had deemed I should not have friends and no one dared defy him. At home Dudley ruled as well. He got the first choice and best of everything while I, the burden left on their doorstep, was granted only his castoffs. If I knew what a house-elf was at that young age I would have thought myself one. For the sole difference between my lot in life and that of a lowly house-elf was the privilege to wear clothes and receive a state-provided education.

I had a distinctive scar on my forehead that my aunt told me I acquired in the automobile accident that took the lives of my parents. There begins and ends the knowledge of my life before the Dursleys. Beyond an insult scattered here or there my parents were not spoken of. If you look at the pictures in my family home you would think there was nothing worth remembering before Dudley was born. There wasn't even a photograph of Aunt Petunia's Parents, who did not live to see, Dudley and I, their only grandchildren born.

I would lie in bed at night and wonder what my parents looked like. Who gave me the green eyes? Which of them had black hair? Did I inherit my bad eyesight from one of them or was that simply a result of my less than exemplary environment.

**Chapter 1: When Magic Came Home to Roost**

If this were a muggle book the name of this chapter would have been "You've got mail!" But alas it is not and my meager muggle pop culture knowledge will be wasted on the pureblood isolationist majority.

Many of you may be thoroughly depressed by the sad beginning of this book but I assure you my life did get better and as you will see as I relate the comedy surrounding my Hogwarts letter_._

Any child is excited to get mail. They don't care if it's a shampoo sample or a birthday card from grandma. If it's addressed to them, its special. It's theirs.

One morning I went to retrieve the post and was quite surprised to find a letter addressed to me.

HARRY POTTER

THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS

4 PRIVET DRIVE

LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY

If I were not so shocked to get a letter of any sort, I would have noticed that it did not have a postal code, a stamp or any of the other indicators that it was delivered by our local postman.

Stunned I handed the remainder of the post to my Uncle Vernon and begun to open the envelope. The seal was barely broken when it was snatched from my hand by Dudley who passed it on to his father crowing, "Harry got a letter!"

Despite no longer having it in my possession the sentence sounded wonderful. Harry got a letter.

I waited patiently for Uncle Vernon to read it so I might have my letter back. I planned to read it and lovingly store it away in with my treasures even if it was only offering a quote for new windows.

As Uncle Vernon read the letter I noticed all the color drain from his face. I didn't know what to make of it. When he turns red he is frustrated or had overexerted himself. When he turn purple he is angry, but this complete lack of color was a mystery. So I made myself still to learn what it meant.

To my horror he began to tear up my letter and tossed it in the rubbish bin. Before I could stop myself I shouted, "That was mine!" and was promptly punished for talking back.

The next day there was a new rule in the house. Harry was not allowed to touch the post.

Everyday a new letter was delivered with the morning post and everyday it was tossed in the bin or in the fire. Sometimes a letter was slipped into the evening paper and yet another was found in the milk delivery. We ended up receiving upwards of ten identical letters a day all addressed to me.

The inundation of letters was starting to drive my uncle quite batty. He would scream incomprehensibly at the owls camped out in our front garden. He even boarded up the mail slot. He was jittery and over the clattering of his cup and saucer he started to gush about the wonders of Sunday. The best thing about Sunday he said was there was no postal delivery. As if they were waiting that cue owls started to pour in the open window behind him each with a letter addressed to me. Then the board on the mail slot popped off the door and more letters came in the house. Finally a deluge of letters came soaring down the chimney until we could almost swim in them.

"PETUNIA!" Uncle shouted. "Pack our bags. We're leaving." He turned to me turning that familiar shade of purple. "Get your things, you're coming too. I don't trust you with a child minder this time."

I was going on vacation!

Chapter 2

Some of you may be wondering what the drama surrounding my Hogwarts letter was all about. Why the persistent multiple deliveries for one and why my Aunt and Uncle were so determined to avoid them?

The multiple delivery question is easy. It would be unthinkable for the Boy-Who-Lived to not go to Hogwarts. So when my relatives did not respond to the letter or it was determined that the previous letter had been destroyed, replacements were sent. I'm confidant that if my relatives had done the rational thing and sat down to write a refusal Albus Dumbledore would have arrived on their doorstep within moments to talk them around to his way of thinking. On second thought, maybe they did know that would have happened and ran away to avoid a confrontation with our late headmaster.

I know for most of you the arrival of your Hogwarts letter was an occasion for celebration. So why they were avoiding my Hogwarts letter is a more complicated question. In the house I grew up in children didn't ask questions so I never asked them at the time and at the writing of this memoir we are no longer in communication so I can't ask them now that I am an adult. Through the maturity of years, the study of people and talking with some contemporaries, I have a few theories.

My Mother, as you all know, was muggleborn. Just like me, she received a letter out of the blue inviting her to enter a world where magic was not only real but commonplace. I imagine my grandparents reacted the way most parents of muggleborn children do, with a great deal of skepticism followed by awe and fascination when the Professor visit inevitably follows. Now what would the reaction of a sibling in that household be? A generous child would be happy for their sister but most children would be understandably jealous if the same invitation was not extended to them as well. So my theory is that my Aunt suffered with jealousy from being excluded from the magical world and as result began to resent my mother and her new life among Wizardkind. She especially resented the attention her parents lavished on my mother while they learned about this fascinating new world together.

As a defense she declared magic and anything associated with magic abnormal and wrong and sought out to make her life as boring as possible. When she moved out of her parent's home she cut off communication with her sister hoping to never have contact with anything magical again. That plan was overturned one cold November morning when she found a baby in a basket on her doorstep.

Petunia Dursley had to explain to her husband about wizards, wands and who this Dumbledore person was who left a child next to the milk bottles. You can be sure Vernon heard a very biased version of events and I wager it scared him silly. So they devised a plan to keep their home normal and magic-free despite having a young wizard in the house.

Magic would be a taboo word. It would not be spoken in their house. No Fairy Tales allowed, no fantasy movies, no muggle illusionists who pretend to have magic, accidental magic will be punished instead of rewarded to avoid future occurrences and absolutely no going to Hogwarts. When children go to Hogwarts they come home with snakes and toads in their pockets, stinky potions in their trunks and talk about impossible freakish things.

The arrival of my Hogwarts letter was a day they were dreading for ten years and when it arrived they reacted irrationally which leaves us in a ramshackle cabin on a small island in the Irish Sea.

It is in this small one bedroom cabin when I heard a clock chime midnight and I wished myself happy 11th birthday. My cousin Dudley and I were lying in the lounge room when there was a thumping on the front door followed by the same door falling into the room. The doorway was filed with a body so huge we didn't even see a head until he ducked to enter the room. He was tall, wide and hairy. He was also smiling which made him seem less scary when he greeted me by name. He gave me a squashed birthday cake and sat down to cook a few sausages by the fire. He explained he was a hungry after running all over Britain all day to make sure I got my letter. He handed me my letter and I finally got to read that familiar invitation to the premier wizarding school in Europe.

"So what do you think so far?" Harry asked as Hermione lowered the pages.

"Despite the big font, this is one chapter not two chapters and prologue." She smiled.

"Yeah, yeah and I'm sure the spelling is atrocious too. But what do you think? Is it worth pursuing?" He pressed. "Did I just waste a week of my hard earned retirement?"

"It's a very good effort. Writing in first person is appropriate as this is a memoir. The style is natural but erudite. I mean you a certainly pulling out the Galleon words but you aren't overdoing it." She paused. "Wasn't there more of a confrontation between Hagrid and the Dursleys"

"There was but I wasn't sure if I should put it in….I thought it was funny at the time but Hagrid could get in trouble for muggle-baiting. He intended to turn Dudley into a pig! That pig tail of his had to be surgically removed." Harry confessed shaking his head.

"It was never reversed? I didn't realize that." Hermione sat back in the comfy chair and took a sip of her tea. "I'll do a little research and see if he could still be charged. Perhaps it's outside the statute of limitations (if there is such a thing in the wizarding world)."

Harry took a biscuit from the plate in front of him and offered the plate to his friend.

"I'm thinking of starting the next chapter ...Did you know I am a parselmouth. Shocking! I know." He chuckled.

"You are determined to make it cheeky then?" She grinned.

"Absolutely." He smirked.


	2. Chapter 2

Did you know I could understand and speak to snakes?

You are thinking Harry Potter can't possibly be a parselmouth but I assure you it is true.

I discovered this on a trip to the zoo before I had even heard of Hogwarts. I was admiring a large python and reading the information provided about its origin when I expressed out loud that it must be nice to live in South America. The snake somehow got my attention and gestured to the portion of the sign that stated it had been bred in captivity. So I commiserated with it about that, simply thinking that this was a very smart snake to understand English. Over the next few minutes a bout of accidental magic allowed the snake to escape and he called out "adios, amigo" as he slithered out of the reptile house.

That made me pause. Did I hear what I just thought I heard? It was probably my imagination I decided. If he was really born at the zoo he would have spoken English and don't they speak Portuguese not Spanish in the part of South America his species originated?

I was muggle-raised so I didn't immediately think, "Hey I can talk to snakes!" and then went in search of garden snakes to try it out on. No, I forgot all about it until second year dueling club when my Slytherin opponent cast _Serpensortia,_ conjuring a ruddy big cobra onto the dueling platform. That spell being way beyond the grasp of a mere second year allowed the little idiot materialize the snake but not control it. The snake being a smart creature ignored the two armed students and went after the unarmed spectators.

I shouted at it stop and leave them alone until a teacher intervened and dismissed the snake.

All the children in the room were scared not because they were face to face with poisonous snake but because Harry Potter had been speaking in Parseltongue.

Didn't you know being parselmouth is a sign of a dark wizard?

Can we pause right here and digress a little about that wizarding world prejudice?

Parseltongue is an innate ability. You are born with it. It can't be taught. Does that mean that there are baby dark wizards out there because they were born with a dark ability? I somehow doubt it. Red eyes on the other hand are definitely a sign of a dark wizard. You have to do some pretty nasty dark magic and rituals to yourself for your eyes to turn red. That doesn't occur naturally.

Where did my parselmouth ability come from? Voldemort got his from his mother who was a Gaunt and a descendant of Slytherin but it is not a known trait of the Potter family.

Albus Dumbledore hypothesized that I acquired it the night Voldemort tried to kill me as an infant as a sort of spoil of war, because the scar that was left behind was much more than a scar. It was a psychic connection between the two of us. Once he regained solid form I could see out his eyes whenever he would experience strong emotions and I happen to be asleep at the same time. A handy source of information for our side of the conflict but once he discovered it, a tool he used against us.

During the Battle of Hogarts, Voldemort managed to destroy that connection between us and good thing he did otherwise he would have likely taken me with him when he died. Now that the connection gone so should my parselmouth ability. That is not the case. It's not terribly useful but I still have it. So there must be another explanation.

TBC

Hermoine put down the page. "This I got to hear. I rather like this confessional style of yours and you know I'm not one for gossip."

"Give 'em a taste and make 'em thirsty for more," Harry chuckled.

"Is this really the next chapter? You've skipped from your Hogwarts letter to second year to the Battle of Howarts," She inquired turning to face him on the sofa.

"Well…It's the next chapter I wrote. You know I'm not the most organized. I just wrote what came to me and I'll let an editor make sense of it if I ever decide to publish it. No one ever said biographies have to be chronological."

"This chapter isn't finished though; you have this little 'to be continued' note here at the bottom of the page." She pressed.

"That's because I'm having trouble articulating what my theory is."

"Walk me through it. This is why you asked me to read it, to be a sounding board."

"Okay. Short answer. I think, maybe, I got it from my mother," He revealed.

"Your Mother? I didn't know she was parselmouth." Hermoine frowned.

Harry shrugged, "I don't know if she was or not. I don't have any diaries and you know Petunia wouldn't tell me anything." He said rolling he eyes over his aunt's attitude. "It's not a very useful ability unless you work with snakes every day. I discovered it about myself completely by accident. It's possible she was and never used it."

"True, but that's quite a reach." She agreed doubtfully.

"I know this is what I'm having trouble with. It comes from this book I found that had a chapter about the origins of Muggleborns."

"Oh, Merlin! Not that crackpot theory that all muggleborns are actually bastards of purebloods who obliviated the mother when the relationship ended," She moaned.

Harry laughed. "I hadn't heard that one. No. Nor am I talking out the theory where muggleborns are just magical talent re-exerting itself in squib families so removed from their magical relative they thought they were muggle."

"This is about balance. In order for magic to remain in the world there must x amount of magic users, magical creatures and magical plants. Magic is correcting the magical population. When it under produces the numbers is corrected by magic activating magical talent in children from the non-magical population. If wizards didn't take such care with cultivating magical plants and animal breeding I wonder if a beagle would suddenly have a crup or two in its litter or devil's snare running off a patch of plain old ivy."

"You've got to lend me that book, Harry. That is fascinating."

"Sure. My hypothesis is following the same logic. Perhaps when talents die out they reseeded into the population by spontaneously appearing in a muggleborn. Hence my mother gave me my parseltongue talent."

"Seriously, you have to lend me that book."


	3. Chapter 3

Some of you are wondering why I never took up Professional quidditch. I was youngest seeker in a century my first year of Hogwarts. This only means to me it had been one hundred years since they bent the rules to allow a first year a broom. I suppose I had a good win-loss record. To tell the truth I don't really care all that much about quidditch.

I was a seeker, which means I wasn't all that involved in the game. Seekers play a parallel game to the keepers, chasers and beaters but not the same game. A seeker's actions can totally invalidate a whole game of play. And for that reason I have always felt quidditch was a silly game. Frankly the Wizarding World is a silly world so it makes sense that its official sport is just as silly. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy watching a good match now and then but I couldn't imagine doing it as a career.

What I really enjoy is flying. I was a natural on a broom the moment I sat on one first year. Family friends said my Dad took me flying at an early age as well. There is nothing to compare to the sheer joy and freedom I feel as I soar through the sky. The speed of a racing broom ain't half bad either. No, a game of quidditch just gets in the way of a good flight.

People who knew about my love of flying sometimes remarked my animagus form must be a bird. Who knows it could be possible but I never pursued that line of study because I simply didn't inherit my father aptitude for transfiguration. He was a transfiguration prodigy who achieved animagus transformation by age 15. Don't bother trying to look it up the rebellious little sod never bothered to register but I have heard witness statements to that fact as he helped two other achieve the same thing. He was a stag, for those of you who love that kind of trivia.

It does make me wonder, do I have an inner bird? Is that why I'm so good at flying and why I enjoy it so much. Birds seem to like me too. Hedwig my late lamented snowy owl adored me and sometimes treated me as one of her chicks. The headmaster's phoenix liked me too. Fawkes always greeted me when I visited the headmaster's office and asked for a scritch when he seemed to ignore everyone else who visited. During Care of Magical Creatures we had the privilege of observing and caring for a hippogriff. I got to fly on it but that may have been Hagrid playing favorites more than a part bird creature taking a liking to me. I may be a parselmouth and though I have always found it boring, useless ability. Talking to and being to understand birds on the other hand would be awesome.

"Harry, you are such a goof," Hermione giggled the contents of the chapter were not that much of a surprise to her. She knew his main reason for playing quidditch was the flying.

"Eh, I'm running out of things to write. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all."

"Your life is fascinating. You could easily get seven books from you life." She argued.

"I guess I'm not that objective" he sighed. He started to count off the reasons on his fingers. "Pre-Hogwarts. I've said all I'm going to. First year, boring. Second year, embarrassing. Third year….I guess I could write about Sirius but I can't mention the time-turner. Fourth year…the less said about it the better. Fifth year, crap. Sixth year ,ugh. Seventh….I don't want any record of horcruxes. Career - blah. Family life -who cares."

"Harry." She shook her head. "You're definitely not objective. There are tons of interesting stories in there."

"Yeah, I guess," He said glumly, resting his chin on his hand. "I just don't want to make the book about Voldemort."

"You and Voldemort are hopelessly intertwined. You can't avoid him. Maybe make one chapter about his life and his run-ins with you. And then you won't have to dwell on him for the rest."

"Maybe."


	4. Chapter 4

There once was a little boy who was an orphan. He was fed and clothed but his caregivers were negligent. He was bullied. Then he discovered he could do things. Things that made the bullies leave him alone and he could talk to snakes. That was pretty cool too.

Then one day a strangely dressed man came to visit; he explained that he was special but he already knew that. So come September he boarded the Hogwarts express to start attending magic school. He never went anywhere for the holidays but when end of term arrived he reluctantly left his new home and went back to where nobody cared about him until it was September again.

I bet you think you know what happens next. I don't think you do. You are probably thinking, why is he telling us this again? I'm not. As a very good friend told me, my story and another's are hopelessly intertwined and this is his story. The little boy was Tom Marvolo Riddle and strange man was Albus Dumbledore. Who is Tom Riddle you ask? Why he grew up and scrambled up the letters in his name and they spelled….

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Did you think he suddenly appeared on the scene fully grown? All dark lords were little boys once. Even Gellert Grindelwald was once a pompous teenager who hung out with young A.W.P.B. "Percy" Dumbledore while visiting his auntie.

Tom Riddle lived in an orphanage in post-war (WWII or the War with Grindelwald take your pick) London. It was brutal place after the war because of overcrowding and food rationing. I don't know about the wizarding world but in the muggle world food was scarce both during and for a long time after the war. When you have to rely on the charity of others it is a hard existence. In the orphanage older children preyed on the younger and that is the situation Tom lived with until he discovered he could do things. He could do magic and not just accidental magic either. He didn't just protect himself; he sought revenge on those that harmed him. By the time he left for Hogwarts he had no friends and both the children and the staff were scared of him.

He arrived at Hogwarts, as all young wizards and witches do, by riding the Hogwarts Express then taking the boats across the lake. Then he was sorted into Slytherin but he was an orphan of unknown origin so Slytherin was not an easy place either. The playing field was leveled, everyone there could do things like he could so he was determined to be the best.

He was the best, and by seventh year he was head boy. If you look in the Trophy room at Hogwarts you will see that Headmaster Dippet gave him an award for special services to the school. What did he do you may ask? He framed a third year for murder.

TBC

"Wow. That is dramatic." Hermoine gushed.

"I know! I think I finally starting to he the hang of this. When it's not my life I'm writing about it just flows out of my fingers."

"I have to ask though….Percy Dumbledore?"

"His father was Albus too. So when he was young he was called Percy."

"Who told you that?"

"Um…I can't remember. It could have been Aberforth or Dumbledore's portrait. Hell, it could have been Skeeter's book for all I know. Maybe I made it up to make a point that he was a kid once too just like the other two."

"Oh I know! When you finish this book you should do a biography of Rita Skeeter!"

"Shut it, you" He grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

Anyone who has passed thorough the halls of Hogwarts in the last fifty years has heard of or had an encounter with Moaning Myrtle. Of all the ghosts of Hogwarts she is the only student. She still wears her uniform and bemoans to all who will listen the teasing she received at the hands of Olive Hornsby, enjoys flooding the toilets in the first floor girls loo and peeping at the boys in the prefect's bath. Did you know she did that? She is not terribly subtle about it. One of the drawbacks of being a teenage ghost is constantly being in the hormonal maelstrom that is puberty. Myrtle is distinctive for one other characteristic. She had the dubious pleasure of being one of Voldemort's first victims.

Young Tom Riddle was in his seventh year and head boy. He knew the castle like the back of his hand and thought of it as his home. For good reason too, during the summer holidays he did some research and discovered his mother's name was Merope Gaunt. A pure-blood witch directly descended from Salazar Slytherin but she died a few hours after he was born. Her Father was Marvolo Gaunt and Tom was named after him. His ability to talk to snakes was a birthright passed down his family line and allowed him to enter portions of the castle that had not been accessed in centuries. One of those places was The Chamber of Secrets.

In the Chamber he discovered a shrine to Salazar Slytherin and a sleeping basilisk. So began a reign of terror. There were a few petrifactions from people indirectly seeing the basilisk's eyes. Then the Basilisk stumbled upon young Myrtle in the first floor girl's bathroom and its gaze killed her. Headmaster Dippet had no choice but to close the school and send the children home until the danger had past. Tom did not want to go back to the orphanage; he wasn't yet of age. He knew a secret that could save him from returning there. A third year was hiding something in the dungeons, a dangerous something. He led the teachers to the dungeons and there they discovered young Rubeus Hagrid caring for his juvenile acromantula, Aragog, a very dangerous and poisonous spider. He was promptly arrested, his wand snapped and sent to Azkaban; his spider however escaped and became the patriarch of many generations of acromantulas in the forbidden forest and lived to a ripe old age.

With the perpetrator believed to apprehended, the school did not close and Tom was awarded a trophy for special services to the school, finished his education, reached his majority and never returned to the orphanage again. In the meantime deputy headmaster Dumbledore appealed to department of magical law enforcement. Despite being the size of a large full grown man, Hagrid was only 13 years old, a child. They concluded even though the attacks had stopped, the evidence did not point to an acromantula being the cause of death. He was instead charged with a lesser crime of misusing dangerous creatures, was released from Azkaban into Dumbledore's custody, who made him apprentice to the groundskeeper but was banned from continuing his magical education.

Now seventeen, Tom Marvolo Riddle was free to seek out his birth family and be welcomed back as a lost scion of an old pure-blood family. What he found were a couple of deranged degenerates living in a filthy hovel in the form of his Grandfather Marvolo and Uncle Morfin. Generations of inbreeding had not been kind to the Gaunts, they were ugly and likely insane but the parseltongue bred true. They didn't even remember to speak English half the time. They teased him about his looks, a handsome boy who was the very image of his muggle father. It turns out he was in fact Thomas Riddle the Third. His paternal grandparents and father lived up the hill in a large mansion. Merope, he had learned, was just as unattractive as her father and brother but had taken a liking to her handsome rich neighbor and used love potions to make him marry her. Pregnant with Thomas Riddle's child she had deluded herself that he no longer needed the potions to love her. She stopped using them and he ran home to parents confused. Merope had no choice but to return to her father's house but she was turned out for carrying "a half-blood abomination on the name of Gaunt". So the story led back to where it began in the charity hospital where he was born and the orphanage where he was raised.

Tom left them in their filth and turned his sights on his muggle family up the hill. What happened there is not known. Did he attempt to be accepted by his more affluent muggle relatives but was rebuffed? He was after all a legitimate heir of the family since despite the potions his parents were legally married. Did he try exact revenge on his mother's behalf for her abandonment? All we know is that Thomas and Mary Riddle and their son Thomas Jr. were later found dead in their home. Riddle Manor was never occupied by another family again and the muggle villagers believed it to be haunted.

While he was responsible for the death of Moaning Myrtle, the Riddle family is believed to be the first to die by his own hand.

TBC

"This last bit is giving me a little trouble as well," Harry pointed out.

"I can see that. This section is winding down but you need a good conclusion."

"I want to point out that I don't believe his motives were truly pure-blood supremacy because he looked in the face of the downside of too much pure-blood intermarrying and it is not a pretty picture."

"Immortality was his goal and ultimate power over everything. That was the point of so many horcruxes."

"I don't think so, Hermione. He hated everyone. I think he was using the purebloods to destroy the muggles and muggleborns, while he subjugated and destroyed the purebloods personally until he was all that was left."

"And then what? Rule an empty world?"

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "Maybe he hadn't thought that far ahead. He hated Muggles because of his time in that orphanage and if he was rejected by his father's family too that certainly didn't help. He hated purebloods because of the way they treated him in school and his mother's family. He learned at an early age the only way to deal with people who ill treat you, is to dominate them."

"Then why pursue immortality? Wizards live a long time. Except for his run-in with you he nearly achieved his goal in a single wizard's lifetime."

"Maybe when he started he had loftier goals of simply living a solitary life of study like Nicholas Flamel, a decidedly darker path of study, of course. But he wanted to live long enough to learn everything, to be the best."

"Didn't he fear dying? His name means 'flight from death' after all."

"Coincidence. Remember he came up with that name as a schoolboy. He picked it because he found a cool name when he was playing anagrams with his full name. The gang of thugs who hung out with him probably all had secret names they made up the same way but they didn't live long enough for us to know them."

"That's sounds….so childish"

"And so was he. You didn't witness his temper tantrums."

"Do boys really play that?"

"You are Gangrene Harem Joiner and I am Jasper Tram Theory.

She gasped, "How do you remember that?"

"The cool once stay with you. Pyjamas the terror was a memorable one too."

"Pyja-Terror!" She slumped over in her chair laughing and Harry joined her.


End file.
